


Bitter Beans

by IsleofSolitude



Category: Cassandra Palmer Series - Karen Chance
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, john pritkin is a coffee addict
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:26:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25129249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IsleofSolitude/pseuds/IsleofSolitude
Summary: John Pritkin has just been assigned to the American side of the pond, and all he wants is a good cup of coffee.The friendly barista was unexpected.
Relationships: Cassandra Palmer/John Pritkin
Kudos: 10





	Bitter Beans

**Author's Note:**

> This was written based on a tumblr conversation, back in 2018, and originally posted on tumblr. I did not revise except for one sentence at the end.

John Pritkin had been many places in his life so far. There are many adjectives he supposes suit him: experienced, voyager, wayfairer, adventurer, seeker….

He’d sooner face another demon in the Shadowworld than claim one of those words.

If he had to pick, he’d probably best be described as “bloody exhausted”. Transfering across time zones is tough on your sleep cycle, especially if you wrapped up all your assignments in your old country before skipping over the Atlantic and having to come from behind and assist with a massive fuck up that only led to another mess that needed to get cleaned up

To say it had not been a smooth transition was a bit of an understatement.

Luckily, one of the few things that made John have some semblance of hope was the fact that America was a culture of instant gratification, no matter the occasion. They wanted what they wanted, when they wanted, the bigger the better.

Which worked out, because that meant you were guaranteed to find an open restaurant, store, or, Pritkin’s happy place, a 24 hour café. And not only was Bitter Beans open all night, all day, it had damn good coffee. (He was skeptical the first time he had it that it would live up to the name, but one sip and he could feel his adrenaline increase 1000%.)

And the absolutely best part was that his coworkers weren’t here. (Don’t get him wrong, he would die for one of his comrades in a heartbeat. But occasionally he just didn’t want to tolerate the comradery outside of “shit hitting the wall” kind of situations.)

Walking into Bitter Beans, rolling his eyes at the fact that the door stuck just the slightest when first pushed, he instinctively began to notice his surroundings. Being that he liked to work out early in the morning, he had gotten to use to a max of 3 other customers, however usually it was just him and the barista in the “gave up trying to modernize” dining room.

He supposed there’s always one thing that isn’t going to suck.

The barista, one he hadn’t seen before, is idly doodling, leaning on the counter with one arm. She calls out a greeting and straightens, and a strange look flashes through her eyes when he steps up to order. It’s gone in a heartbeat, and he doesn’t care to even think about it. People are crazy, and he just wants his coffee.

“One extra large black, to go.”

If his brevity bothers her, she doesn’t show it. She nods, one finger hitting the buttons on the computer. “4.12, please.”

He counts out the change, sets it on the counter and slides it towards her, then steps to the side to wait. She tenders her drawer, pushes her black and brown ponytail back over shoulder. He lets his eyes drift shut for just a minute, even though a part of him wants to keep an eye on the coffee, because last night was ridiculous (Did these mages even get properly qualified for their jobs?) and sleep was sparse in the few weeks he’d been here. Hell, sleep was parse this year, period.

“Here you go, sir!”

Sighing and opening his eyes, he turned to grab his coffee and saw the girl with two extra large cups. He opened his mouth to correct her, but she simply said, “You look really tired. My treat.” John was about to refuse again, but then he met her eyes and the sheer concern in them silenced him.

“Thank you.” He took them and started walking, an unsettling itch between his shoulders.

Who had that much compassion for a stranger, in this day and age?

* * *

The next time he stepped into Bitter Beans, was of course, the day it was crowded. Because he was angry, he had to deal with people. Of bloody course.

Scowling, he got into line. Where had these people been for the last several weeks? Were these even people, or just golems the universe had activated to aggravate him? The line seemed to not even move by inches, but simply in shuffles and sighs. He could barely see the overwhelmed barista as she did order by order, taking their money and then making their drink, and repeat.

Whatever expression she wore before he made it to the front of the line, he didn’t know. But he did notice that when she looked up and saw him, her face shone for just a split second and a smile teased her lips before she schooled her face back into the pleasant look all harried customer service workers rely on.

“One extra—”

“Extra large black, to go! 4.12, please.” John didn’t like being interrupted, especially when it was almost completely in sync with his words, but he also didn’t like that she had caught him so completely off guard. His scowl deepened and he dropped the money on the counter before moving aside to let her get the coffee. She was apparently out of the right cups, because she disappeared through the small door for a few minutes, and then came back with his beverage. She handed it to him with a smile, and he made sure to scowl as he took it from her (gently, he didn’t want to spill it, not just for the waste but also irritated as he was neither of them needed to feel that burn) and maneuvered to the exit.

It was hours later, after so much tedious meetings and paperwork, that he happened to see the name she had written on it, and before he could stop himself he let out a huffing laugh.

* * *

He went in the next morning, extremely relieved when it was again empty save for the older woman eating a bagel and typing away, her headphones keeping her isolated from the world.

The barista had her back to him, wiping down a machine, and called a greeting over her shoulder. He stood, hands in his pockets, and waited. When she got to a pausing point, she dropped the rag and stepped over to the register, finally looking up, a smile already on her face. “Good morning Grumpy!”

He raised an eyebrow, but she just shrugged. “You looked like you want to just burn everything down yesterday, so…Anyways, extra large black to go?”

Although he had every intention to make today a busy day, and should appreciate less chatter, he found himself mildly irked instead, and, examining it later, he realized he wanted her to feel off balance (not that she made him feel off balance, not at all).

“No, I’ll take it for here.”

She blinked at him, seemed to look up for a second, and then just smiled. “Okay, have a seat, I’ll bring it right out. Anything else for you?” When he shook his head, she continued “$1.75”. He again slid the money across the counter, and she picked it up.

Choosing a seat against the wall midway from the counter and door, he observed her. She was completely unremarkable, her hair a common mix of black and brown, and her eyes a simple black. She was completely average in her movements, her speech, and even the fact that she remembered his order was not that unusual if most days were super slow.

So why did she give him the exact opposite vibes? His scowl must have come back, because she had a teasing smile again on her face as he brought the coffee.

“Here you go, Grumpy.”

“Do you always find such unflattering nicknames for your customers?” He hadn’t meant to speak, but she paused and put a hand on a hip and looked down at him.

“Only when they don’t introduce themselves when they become a regular.”

Damn, he really didn’t have a reply for that. “You didn’t introduce yourself either, I thought that was part of your training?”

She actually giggled at that. “I don’t even wear a nametag, do you think they want the rest of this crazy city knowing my name just by looking? Stalker ville, population one.”

He felt a smirk coming and drank his coffee to curb it. “Fair enough.” It was a clear moment for her to exit, but she lingered. He blamed his time in the Victorian ages for his manner, because he said, “What is your name?”

“Cas—Cathy” she stammered.

He narrowed his eyes just the slightest and took another sip. He heard the door being pushed, and as she began her trip back to the register, he murmured, “John.” Judging by the smile on her face and the small glance she gave him before the new customer blocked the view, she had heard.

He told himself he didn’t care.

* * *

After that, he never got coffee to go. He didn’t go everyday, but if there wasn’t work to do and he wasn’t too beat up, he would make his way two blocks down to that little silver door with the faded red cup on it, and push it open, careful of the fact that it stuck.

It seemed like Cathy had a 6th sense for when he was going to show, because he would barely have gotten through the doorway before she was calling out hi and pouring a steaming cup of joe as he settled into “his” table.

If it wasn’t busy, and it very rarely was, they would talk.

The first time she plopped down at his table, he was taken aback, although he really should have seen it coming. She complained about being bored, and then asked what he was reading (his assignment glamoured to be a classic novel) and she smiled that cursed, teasing smile.

“I bet you just read that to look cool in public.”

“Yes, of course.” But inside, he didn’t like the fact that he liked that she thought he was cool.

A few weeks in, and she would have her own cup ready to sit next to him, and a daily paper on his table for them to share (In reality, she would read excepts she thought he needed to hear, while he drank his coffee and interjected whenever she missed the point. He was more than amused with the way she made it dramatic and silly, she loved that he felt the need to nitpick everything).

* * *

It hit him all at once that things were not okay because of a stupid clock.

Like every morning there wasn’t a mission to recover from, John had woken up and done his morning routine of shielding, followed by a work out. However, on his way out the door to bitter beans, he happened to glance at the clock beside the door and realize that it wasn’t even 430am yet. He always was done with his workout by 5, and out the door by 5:20.

Frowning, he paused, hand on the doorknob, and after a moment realized he had rushed through his routine like a schoolboy, skipping one part entirely.

Leaning his forehead against the door, he whispered a very emphatic “Bloody hell.”

He had grown attached to Cathy.

Like a little idiot, he had gotten into a routine that involved a mortal, and he was going to get her killed, like everyone else, if he got any further in. He didn’t know how Cathy, the average barista, of all people could have become someone he counted as a friend but…

“Of course you do, idiot.” Groaning, Pritkin rubbed his forehead. He was out of practice lying to himself. Cathy was nice, and fun, and always gave him an oversized mug but charged for a regular. He was an idiot.

And he couldn’t return there, ever again.

Opening the door, he made his way to headquarters. Their coffee sucked, but he would get used to it.

* * *

It was 7am, and Cathy’s replacement was due to arrive any moment. She looked around the dining room again, and Pritkin had not magically appeared in Bitter Beans. She bit her lower lip, and tried to think of an excuse to be alone so no one would worry when she cried. 

The moment she was allowed to clock out, she found herself a bit of privacy and shifted back to her time.

**Author's Note:**

> The conversation from tumblr was basically: What if after Pritkin had died, Cassie took a job in the past to see him just a few more times.


End file.
